La petite mort: Happy Birthday Sylke
by Tina senpai
Summary: A short little treat for a friends birthday. I hope she approves x Loki x OC.


~La petite mort~

Happy Birthday Sylke

You have a moment alone in the bath, wondering how it had come to this. You place your head under the water and allow yourself to slip into thought. When you open your eyes, the image of Loki above you frightens you. You try to sit up, but a hand clasps over your mouth and you fear you will drown. He pulls you up and you try to breath in, but he grabs the back of your wet hair and latches his lips to yours.

You struggle, until a hand slips between your legs, too late for you too stop and works inside.

Soon you are a quivering mess. He stops and kisses you once more, before pushing you away, causing you to slip and almost fall back under the water. He laughs and awaits for you to exit the tub.

You grab a towel to hide your body, the wrong one as it barely covers your torso and begin to yell at him. As you grimace at him and call his actions disgusting, his expression of amusement fades and you find yourself pushed against the wall.

He grinds his hips hard against yours and you quiver with excitement and fear. He leans forward and uses his free hand to force back your head, exposing the flesh of your neck. He nibbles a little too hard at your pulse point and inhales through his nostrils.

As he pulls back his self-satisfactory smile returns.

"I can smell your arousal. And you are a liar. Nothing more."

He kisses you and touches you again, causing you to whimper in want. His hands pulled away the towel and cup your breasts, teasing the peaks and creating a road of goosebumps along your skin.

The trail of kisses he leaves feels both hot and cold and he sucks at the droplets of water that fall down from your shoulders.

Just before he reaches the centre of attention that aches and begs for him to touch, he grasps your hips and pulls you forward.

Your head stays touching the wall as you gaze at the ceiling and you splay your hands flat against the back of the wall as he touches you. His arm curves around your back to hold you in place as his other wanders, tracing each scar, each birthmark, each freckle he comes across.

"Fascinating," he whispers, slightly impressed, "you humans and your view of...imperfection."

You gaze down at him to scold him, but realise he's complimenting you as he places a kiss on a particular freckle you've always hated. And yet, now that he has kissed it, it doesn't seem so bad.

His smooth finger pads draw circles upon your skin and then he lightly scrapes his nails against your lower stomach.

You can't help but whimper as he leans forward and you feel his breath.

His cold breath that sends goosebumps and ripples of delight where you need him.

You want him and you hate him for it.

You part your legs when he stands up straight, pressing his warm clothed body against yours and you grit your teeth and glare at him, because you don't want him to know.

He can't know.

"If you want more, then you have to say the words."

But he does know. He always knows what you want and what you're thinking, regardless of the lies you tell.

He presses a finger to the pulse point on your neck, before trailing it down to your belly button, leaving a cold trail in his wake.

"I could take you whenever I wish to. I could hold you down, kicking and screaming, begging me not to," you feel his other hand grip the back of your neck and tug so he can plant delicate kisses against your chin, "and you would still want me to touch you. To take you. To taste you."

He jerks your head forward and forces you too look at him.

"But I shan't, until you're begging me to. To prove to me, you know we are not equals. Until you're on your knees, wanting me with every fibre of your pathetic being."

He suddenly steps away from you, smiling that smile that makes you want to him and kiss him at the same time.

His hand comes up and he holds it out towards you.

He's not accepting you.

He's waiting for you to crumble.

And you know you're about to.

And you want it with every fibre of your being.

The End.


End file.
